we lose some

never did i believe when people said i could write.. 

but maybe i did. 

back during the years of youthful .. youthful.. umm..  i could not find a word.

now, i think i've gotten too old for "writing" my heart out.

always having second thoughts, always meeting a gap, a space, which can be filled by words i simply cannot arrive at.

my brain is incapable of reckless imagination - as it has been programmed to... (there's that gap again)... to shut most raw emotions in. its like an automatic lock i have set myself.. only to find out years after that i have forgotten its code.

Fatal Strokes

i write with my heart

a stain i try to rid myself of

for in every word that down i write

i give out a little of my soul

the ink springs not from the pen

but from thoughts deep down inside

i submit to such fatal transparency

with every single word i inscribe

to never touch a pen might imperil me not

my very wraith locked up with my very soul

but to be forbidden to write is deadly still

for poisoned is the ink allowed not to flow.

-05.15.2003-